Nothing else is like the love of a brother. A brother that can make you so mad that for a moment you will write him off, thinking it’ll be alright if you never speak again. But within minutes all is forgiven, if not forgotten. The sibling that will do battle for you at the drop of a hat is the same person you have fought and argued with more than everyone else in the world combined.
I have sons that have this same relationship. Mike and Ron, number 2 & 3, find themselves coming to each others aid and comfort often throughout the years.
It’s no surprise that number 4 & 5 are the closest of all. Scary freaky close. Jason and Justin are the complete package of oneness, but their DNA contributes to that I suppose. Being identical twins locked them together in ways that nothing else could.
But for my bother and me, I sometimes think being raised when and where we were and by the parents that had us, caused us to develop a connection that few people could ever understand.
We have lived a life of almost constant adventure. I hardly remember us doing anything or much that other brothers did. We didn’t play baseball or join cub scouts as kids. We didn’t go to summer camps.
We didn’t each have our own bedrooms, heck we didn’t even have a bedroom of our own until we were almost in high school. Mostly living in the smallest of houses, always being one bedroom affairs, our mother made down the couch in the living room for us to sleep on. Our private time was out in the pasture or down at the barn, which was hardly a barn at all. More of a goat shed.
We built campfires to set out around, regardless of weather. That was our place of comfort. We had a tree house, but nothing you could hid out in. It was more of a high seat up in an oak tree that we’d set and watch all that was going on around us from. Which was really nothing, nothing but nature.
Kenny was the one that lovingly drove me home as a freshman in high school, but took me down in the pasture to the old windmill so he could run water over my head to help sober me up, after a night of drinking a way too much cherry flavored vodka. He was the one that reassured our mother that I’d be alright, if just allowed to go to bed and sleep it off.
As hard as it is to believe this now, he was mostly always the good son. He actually studied in school and made good grades. It is possible that he never played hooky. He was always there to run cover for me. Now don’t get me wrong, he was the very one that was really annoyed with me when he and our dad showed up to pick me up from jail shortly before I turned 16. But that was mostly because he didn’t look kindly on me disgracing the family name. But he got over that shortly. I’m sure he would have went to blows with anyone that called him me Jailbird Lewis.
We have managed to work together in the same industry, being competitors and allies at the same time for more than 40 years. Heck, we even relocated our office into the back of his complex a couple of weeks ago when our lease was up done the road. I’m sure he’d let me use the front door if I asked. He’s that kind of brother.
Now we move forward and we are working on a collaborative effort to tackle the world of utility construction together.
Coming up this week my brother will receive a new ankle and in a few short weeks I’m sure he’ll be out “taking names and kicking hiney’s”. But until he heals, I’ll do whatever kicking needs to be done.
Since this was originally written back three years ago, Ken’s ankle is all well and good (on most days). But there always another ailment we can converse about. It’s gotten to the point of “which doctor appointment do you have today”? We just never know who’s going to ask it first.